


How The World Expanded

by godcomplexfics (godtiercomplex)



Series: The World Keeps Turning On Its Axis [1]
Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Ancient India, Gen, Historical, Parent Death, South Asian Family OCs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-28
Updated: 2015-04-28
Packaged: 2018-03-26 05:55:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,712
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3839611
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/godtiercomplex/pseuds/godcomplexfics
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>India was content to wander for a long time, until he realized that he could be so much more. The story of the boy who wandered, and how he came to be to a man who had a home.</p>
            </blockquote>





	How The World Expanded

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [He was born with weak fingers but a strong heart](https://archiveofourown.org/works/1851277) by [godcomplexfics (godtiercomplex)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/godtiercomplex/pseuds/godcomplexfics). 



> Takes place during random, unspecified points in time prior to the Mughal Empire’s rise to power. 
> 
> Thusly to indicate how much older this takes place a few people have undergone name changes:  
> Nitai, Sagar=Nalin (India)  
> Mani=Niral (Nepal)  
> Arnab=Emran (Bangladesh)  
> Nuveena=Keshini (Sri Lanka)  
> Rangani=Sana (Maldives)  
> Datta, Aagam, Chandak, Daiwik, Aahan=Akmal (Pakistan)  
> Bahar (Persian rule), Arya (Indian rule) = Afia (Afghanistan)  
> Kokan=Tashi (Bhutan)
> 
> Their WIP bios can be found on [ the APH South Asia blog ](http://aphsouthasia.tumblr.com/bios). 
> 
> Used in this fic, [Mr. Persia](http://hetascanlations.tumblr.com/post/101267431060/), and others like Indus River Valley Civilization named Aardhya in here. 
> 
> Also to quote my twitter: I DON’T KNOW SHIT ABOUT MUSIC. So, heed that going in. 
> 
> References made to Indian history from Nalin’s birth during the Mature period to Akmal’s arrival when Islam was starting to become a thing in India in the 12th century. So covers a LOT.

The sun is setting low in the sky, and the Ravi river is cool on his small brown feet. The village girls had put flowers all in his hair, and their mothers had told him to wait for a moment longer by the water, promising him something more. The moon promises to be full when it rises, and his small hands block out the sun before falling down on the green grass, and dig into the mud.

“There you are.” The cool tones of his mother’s voice make him stop destroying nature, and turn to look up at her. She has washed recently, if the water dripping from the sole braid on her head is any indication. Her eyes are warm as she drops down next to him, not seeming to care that the mud will soak through her cotton skirts, or when he throws his arms around her and smears mud and grass across her naked back. Her body comforts him with its familiarity, and she holds him close. “The grandmothers tell me that you have been well, Nitai.”

Nitai doesn’t want to let go of her, because once he does, he knows it won’t be long until she leaves him again. The villagers call her Aardhya but to him she is his mathra--the only one in the entire world who is like him. She is only one who has not aged in all the time he has lived here. The grandmothers have changed from being the daughters, and the grandchildren, and the cycle marches on, and he does not change even as the people around him die.

“Aardhya, I want to go with you--” but she doesn’t let him finish, settling back and holding him close as she sighs, and his chin is equal to the almost fresh cut lining her chest.

“It is not safe, my love.”

It has never been safe in all the years that he has asked, but he cannot give up hope that someday she will make it safe enough. The sun sets, and she holds him close as she speaks about lands and places he has never seen but through her stories. About the men and women she has fought and about everything that she has ever done. She speaks until someone comes with dinner for them, leaving her instruments as well. They eat, and the food tastes bitter and he is already counting the time until she will leave again. He doesn’t want her to stay when she has so much to do, but he wants to go with her, he wants to see more than the rivers and the sun and the moon and the same faces of her people that she has told to keep him safe.

He doesn’t understand even as she tells him that all of this is to keep him safe, and so she sighs and kisses him and says that in the future he will understand what it feels like to be a parent. She picks up her instrument and, with delicate fingers that don’t suit the woman who has drawn blood and brought death to so many, begins to play. He recognizes the story that she sings, about the Goddess Kali’s rampage, and he knows that she sees herself reflected in the verses that flow out into the night, and he wonders who will be her Shiva to stop her, if that is what she wishes.

He wishes he knew how to stop her, but he knows that just like the music will come to an end, that she will leave again and one day might not return.

* * *

 

“I am part of you, Nitai,” she mutters as she thinks that he is sleeping as the sun has not yet risen. He had been listening to her heartbeat, feeling it sound against his ear and it had been the lullaby that she had stopped singing because she had fallen silent, lost in her thoughts. Now, he cannot say anything as she presses a kiss to his forehead. He knows his protests will mean nothing to her, and so keeps silent as she talks. “You are my son, you will be what I cannot be. These people are yours as much as they are mines. Accept them into your heart, Nitai. Even when I have gone from this world, we will always be together.”

He sits up then, but her back is to him, and she is dressed like a warrior, standing from his side, and talking to the village mother, Neyen, who has taken care of him since her own son died. “I might not return from this. Keep him safe, please.”

“As you will, Aardhya. Please stay safe, our people need you.”

“This is the village that I have loved. You will be safe. I will not let harm fall upon your heads as long as I breathe.” Aardhya allows the villager to kiss her, and then leaves, not looking back, and not seeing him sitting up from his cot and staring after her.

“Mathra!” Neyen, the villager who has cared for him for the last five years won’t let him leave their hut. She draws him close, and kisses his hands.

“Oh my love,” she mutters, “I must beg that you forgive me but I cannot let you leave us as well, Nitai. You are all that she will leave behind.”

Neyen starts to cry, and he does as well, his small body shaking as he hears the men who escorted his mother make noise as they all leave the village, horses loud, chariots louder in the predawn light.

* * *

 

Aardhya does not return.

* * *

 

Nitai runs away when Neyen dies a short while after they both realize that Aardhya will not come back to them. He runs and doesn’t stop running. He lives for a time in the wilderness, making friends with the animals and bugs and being one with the nature that dwells in the borders of the land that his mother left behind for him to inherit. He would be content to live there until he died, but he is lonely, and it is the loneliness that finally forces him to leave, small gift from the forest by his side, a small bird that he leaves unnamed because nothing in this world belongs to him.

He ends up dying just outside of a village, forgetting to eat in his grief. He doesn’t even know how much time has passed since he last saw Aardhya but there are new people, and the language has shifted away from what he knew, and the world is so much larger than he ever could have imagined. These aren’t his people, and this isn’t his land, and he belongs to no one and nothing belongs to him. He hasn’t heard his name in such a long time, and hasn’t spoken language that humans speak in so long that he is surprised when he feels ash on his face, and hears songs. He opens his eyes, and then the songs stop and trail off as he sits up.

He’s naked, but he’s been naked for a long time that it doesn’t matter. He’s clean, and he realizes as he looks out at these people that they were readying him for burial. He wants to stand, but he is so weak that he remains kneeling on someone’s makeshift cot, and looks at the people before him.

They watch him, and he watches them and then they talk amongst themselves. From what he can overhear, he had been dead. His body had been cold, and his breath had left his body. They wonder what to do with him, and he asks for something to eat.

They watch him, and he stops watching them, thinking about his mother, and why his heart doesn’t hurt as much as before. The ache is no longer as fierce as it was. The small girl that brought him his food, no older than he looks, smiles when she brings him more, and he smiles back.

The villagers decide that he must be a god, or someone touched by them. That he is someone important, and they are right, even if there is nothing divine about him. He is supposed to be them. He is supposed to be the land. But he is not. He is just a boy who was Nitai and who they call Sagar. He accepts it, even as he clings to the memories of his mother, and the village he lived in for so long.

He stays in that village for so long, that the girl who once smiled at him, marries, and then dies. Her grandchildren marry and die, and after that he leaves, no longer able to remain in the same place and watch those he cares about die again and again. His body has aged, but nowhere near the amount of the other people. He fought for them, battled against their enemies, and bore their piercings and tattoos with grace and pride, but now he leaves them, scarred at heart and hands trembling. There must be a punishment for killing your people again and again, he cannot help but think.

He tosses away all of the weapons that the village imparts on him, leaving only the knife that Aardhya gave to Neyen and that Neyen gave to him on her deathbed. Sagar keeps a bag full of jewelry and clothes for trading and to wear, and a vina at his side. He cannot say how old he is mentally, but physically he is at least as old as boys who have experienced fourteen growing seasons.

 

* * *

 

He travels east and hears about a man who had it all and then gave it all up. Sagar ends up in the mountains, crossing up and over, wandering as he will wander for decades more, centuries more. He is stopped in his explorations of this land that gave birth to the Buddha by a smaller child with a bigger weapon that he has on him. He ends on his back while the child yells at him, and the only reason he does not fight back is because the feeling that (she? he? they?) gives him is exactly how he felt when Aardhya was around.

“I am just like you,” he says, and the child scoffs at him.

“I know,” and then with a twitch of their staff, he loses consciousness.

When he awakens, he is with the child at their home, and they introduce themselves as Mani. Mani does not seem inclined to think much of him, and he soon figures out that just like he has his people, they have theirs, and that to Mani, his people are their people’s enemies.

“You go to where you are not wanted, singing songs and playing this,” Mani indicates his vina which they have on their lap. Sagar feels around for his knife and is relieved to find that they have not stolen it. At least he has this still, even if the rest of what he set out from the village with has been stolen or sold. “And now you come here, and have inconvenienced me.”

“I did not think I would meet someone else like me,” and he can’t stop staring at Mani, wanting to touch them to be sure that he is not dreaming. “After Aardhya died--.”

“Don’t speak of that woman, and I will feed you before you leave.” Mani waits for him to agree, and then gets up and tends to their fire. “What is your name?”

“Nit . . . Sagar.”  

“Well, Sagar, I hope that this is the last I will see of you for a long time. You and your people.”

“They’re not mines, they’re Aardhya’s.”

“That woman is dead,” Mani’s voice is firm, “And those to the west of me are yours, and the ones here are mines. I trust you will not get confused again.”

Mani looks so much like his mother, that he cannot help but ask, “How did you know her?”

“Didn’t I tell you not to speak of her?” Mani sighs, “She was my mother, as she was yours, and as she was to many others.”

“She has more children?” It is not a thought that has occurred to him before.

“Of course she does, have you any idea how large the land she left behind is? And since you spoke of her and made me speak of her, you will leave now. No food for you.” Mani picks up his vina and their staff and points the way out of her home, frowning. He leaves, heart full of something he can’t put a name on.

* * *

 

He travels further east, the mountains and the stray humans he find his only company. He realizes slowly that the stray humans aren’t strays but are much like himself. And soon they are no longer strays, but people living in villages, and he finds himself walking along next to someone who calls himself Kokan and smiles at him and asks Sagar to play his vina for him when they have reached his home. This boy is the same age as him, and he is the same as him.

The people who surround him are Kokan’s and the land he is on is Kokan’s. There is no ache in his heart, and he feels at peace like he did in Mani’s lands. He is disconnected, and it feels wonderful. As he sings for Kokan, songs that he picked up, songs that Aardhya sang to him centuries ago, he starts to realize that the reason for his disconnect, is because he connected with the people he left behind. Wandering the country and seeing all of them, in their homes, in their huts, in their pain, and in their joy, has connected him with the people who Aardhya left behind. He is theirs, and they are his. He is responsible for them, and that realization makes his fingers pause on his strumming.

“Is something wrong?” Kokan asks, and his voice is so gentle that Sagar tells him everything. He tells him about Aardhya, about Neyen and the village. About the jungle and the animals he befriended. About the peacock resting outside of Kokan’s house and how he has been at his side since he left the jungle. He tells him about the girls who stayed at his side in the next village he found his way to, and about their marriages, and deaths. He tells Kokan about everything, and cries before he realizes it, big tears that fall down his face. Kokan hugs him, and it has been so long since anyone dared to do that, that he ends up crying harder against his chest.

Sagar tells him about Mani and how they had pushed him out of their home, and about how Mani had been the first since Aardhya that he had ever met that was the same as him. Kokan kisses his palm and tells him that he is not alone.

“There are many more like us. South of my people, there is a boy who has gained a lot of power, and next to me is someone like me, and further is a jade boy.” Kokan’s dark brown hair falls across his face, and his words mean nothing to Sagar, but he feasts on them, memorizing locations and directions as Kokan speaks.

He stays with Kokan for a long time, learning about the middle way and the man who has left such an impact on his people. Eventually he leaves, not that Kokan makes him leave, but one day, Sagar knows he has to take care of what is his. Sagar has watched Kokan tend to his people all this time and it has inspired him.

* * *

 

He heads west, and finds that the area of his people have been under the reign of a fearsome men called Alexander, and that he has mysteriously left. He heads back east and heads south to meet the boy king who struck fear in the mighty army. He needs to meet the boy who has risen to power and holds on to it with a fierce grip. He doesn’t know what he’s expecting, but it is not the spear to his side, and the alarmed guards yelling when the wound heals up. He’s not expecting them to keep trying to kill him until eventually they give up and bind him and drag him into the house where the boy king lives.

He is not actually a king, but he like Kokan, Mani, and himself.

“What are you?” Sagar asks, and the boy tilts his head at him.

“I am Gangaridal. And you are Bharôt.”

He recognizes the word, but his mother had been Sindhu, so he supposes that is what he would be. He recognizes that he really means Bharat and that even still he really means Sagar, Nitai, him.

“What makes you say that?” He feels the guards loosen their hold on him, Gangaridal deciding he is not a threat. And he truly is just a boy, yet grown men are looking to him for orders.

“I have met Mani and Kokan.” The child, he can’t be more than five or six years, says plainly, “But I have not met you. My thoughts were that there must be someone else, because even though my reach stretches far, some of the people in my borders are not mines.”

“Because they are mines?”

Gangaridal smiles at him, his dark brown eyes studying him intensely, “Yes. Because they are yours. Do you know what we are, Bharôt?”

“We are the people, the land, and everything.”

“We are nations.” Gangaridal says and then he stands up and gets up from his decorated chair with the help of a slave girl. “We cannot die easily, but we can die if enough of our people are wiped out, or if they switch loyalties to someone else.”

“Then . . . is that how Aardhya died?”

"That is how we all will die," Gangaridal says. His body is heavy with gold and perfectly dyed colors all blending and folding to make him truly look like a king. Sagar is in awe, and he is envious. He wants the power that Gangaridal broadcasts, he wants to be that strong.

"I will not die," he settles on saying, "That is what my mathra wished for me and so I will live."

"She wished it of all of us, dādā."

He shouldn't know the word, but he does, and he stares at him in shock. This elegant boy is someone else that Aardhya left behind. This child is his brother.

"Bhai," he says, "Did you know her?"

Gangaridal looks at the people around them and tells them to leave. Sagar waits, half kneeling still on the ground as the people leave. The floor is well swept, and the gentle touch of spring’s warm breezes make Gangaridal’s robes move as he approaches Sagar.

"My name is Arnab. And you are Nitai."

"No, I have not been Nitai in a long time. I am Sagar." His voice is steady but he ends up looking away from Arnab, fingers digging into his palms and drawing blood. It startles him when Arnab touches his shoulder, and he rises on unsteady feet to tower over the smaller boy, and yet feeling like he is the younger one at the wisdom in Arnab’s eyes.

He asks Arnab questions, but there is so much that the younger boy cannot answer. He realizes that he is the one who spent the most time with Aardhya because she knew she would die and that he would inherit the majority of her land. He realizes that for all of his high talking, Arnab is just a child in the end. They are both children but he is the eldest and he has to be responsible. He has to take charge like Mani and Kokan have done, but his hands are still trembling, and he feels so weak. His mother’s back never shook, and she never looked back once she had her goal, but he cannot be as she was. All he can do is play music and sing songs, and quote verses. He cannot fight and take more blood from his own people.

“You will have no choice,” Arnab tells him, voice steady in a way that Sagar so rarely can make his own. His envy almost chokes him, and he wants this, everything that Mani, Kokan, and Arnab have for and with their people.

* * *

 

He goes back home, and meets a great man with a grand vision and a burning anger in his heart. While Sagar has been passing away his days with Arnab, a king has risen up and taken his people by storm. The men that Alexander left behind, his collapsing Empire in his death, falls underneath the cool might of the king that Sagar binds himself to heart and soul, and that he loves above all others. This is the man who will give to his people what he wishes for them.

While Sagar has been away, so much of what was supposed to be his, the inheritance left to him by Aardhya has been stolen by men of Babylon, and of Greece. Chandragupta’s dream is one he cannot help but support with everything in him. Everything that Chandragupta does is for the betterment of the people of his land, the people that he is responsible for, so he ignores the blood shed and lives lost.

He passes blissful days in that Empire, until suddenly Chandragupta gives up his power, and his son takes the throne. Sagar travels south then, wanting to know more about the Empires who blocked the greatest man he has ever known from uniting all of the land. He travels so far south that he comes to the ocean for the first time.

Before him stretches a path, and behind him is his people, but there is something that pulls to him, and so he takes the first step and keeps on walking, unafraid of death even as the waves lap against his sandaled feet.

* * *

 

When he reaches land, there is a girl with long hair, breasts bared and a tangled net at her feet. Her skirts twist around her face as she rams her hands to her clothed hips. The glare on her face reminds him of Aardhya and he’s stopped short before he can get in reach of any sharp weapons she might have. He doesn’t know what to say, but she says enough for the both of them, her tongue harsh and her words like stones against his conscious with the statements of what his people have done to hers. But she is his sister, he can see it in the dark black of her hair, and the shape of her eyes that is just like their mother’s. He can’t take his eyes of her, almost feeling like he is looking at a ghost as she trails off and settles back down to untangle the net. She can feel the connection between them, knowing him like Arnab did so long ago. He finally speaks, asking the question that has his stomach twisting up in excitement.

“What do they call you?”

“Nuveena,” she says, and then glares at him, “You are blocking the light. Either help or leave.”

“I am Sagar.” He settles next to her, and carefully untangles the mess.

“Hmm,” she watches him, and frowns even as he finished unknotting the mess, “Do you know how to make these then?”

“I picked up some things along my way. I am better at making instruments than this.” Sagar lets her pick up his hands and examine them.

“You have good hands,” she says, and he holds the compliment close as she then says, “But you cannot play drums like that.”

“I can,” he says, and she frowns at him and then picks up her net. She takes him back to her house, and her people greet him with curiosity. He doesn’t say much but watches them interact with her. They treat her like their daughter, and they treat her like their queen. She is them, and she is apart. The sun starts to set, and food and instruments are brought out, and he gets to see what she means by his hands are not able to play. But he makes an effort, and it’s worth the pain to see her dance.

* * *

 

He goes back home, and there is a small girl in the palace. There is a larger man, another nation like himself, who has come with her. He does not want to let her go, but the Mauryan Empire--Sagar--has the upper hand, and he can tell just looking at the girl that she is someone that he would like to know. The man, weakened, but growing stronger and who will be someone strong, and is someone Sagar thinks he’d like to know, leaves Bahar and promises to come back for her. His people name her Arya and she accepts it with a weary grace, that reminds him so much of Arnab. They are used to the constant trading and rulers, but he has been running for so long that this is all new to him. He never would have thought he’d be where he is now. He never imagined the life of living in a palace would suit him, but he can’t see the bones on his body and he has become harder by riding into battle at the Mauryan king’s sides.

Arya is quiet and serious, and he knows that it will take some time before she warms up to him, and so he takes her traveling with him. He shows her how happy his people are, to show her how happy her people must be, and finally one day, they have a conversation that lasts behind pleasantries. The man who was forced to give her up visits, and Arya greets him wearily, and Sagar never wants anyone under his charge to feel weary towards him. He tries his hardest to be what Arya needs, and he likes to think he succeeds.

* * *

 

The death of man is always a sad affair, but mourning doesn’t last long for him when Ashoka rises up and does what his grandfather could not. The rivers of blood he leaves in his wake mean so much, but for all of his efforts, he does more than Sagar thought possible.

And then one day, he fears for his soul, and one day he starts to follow the path that Kokan taught Sagar so long ago. The Middle Way, the path of the Buddha from so long ago.

Sagar gets caught up, and before he knows it, his name has changed once more, and now he is Nalin. The boy called Nitai that his mother’s people raised, the boy called Sagar that wandered lost for centuries, and now the man called Nalin who will spread the message outwards. When priests leave on their quest to spread the word, Nalin leaves with them, heading further east than he has gone, having only heard of trade routes stretching out from all across his lands and others but never daring to explore so far away on his own.

* * *

 

The palace is larger than his own, and far older, and the beautiful girl with a bored look on her face as the priests try to instruct and inform makes him bold. Afterwards, he approaches her, and calls her beautiful. She glares at him, and then in a voice almost as low as his own, corrects him about _his_ gender.

“Ah,” is what he says, but then he adds, “Then you are one of the most beautiful men I have ever seen.”

“That is something I have heard before,” he grumbles, and Nalin wonders by who but then he ends up laughing as Yao, launches into a list of complaints about the efficiency of trade through his lands, Tianzhu, Yao calls it, him. And he remembers how that man with the strength to give up a girl who meant so much to him, had called him Hind. This, he figures, is what it means to be connected and to have connections. He doesn’t know why he was so scared of this before.

And then he meets a girl with a wry twist to her lips, who is living at Yao’s house like Arya lives at his--but this is no child who like Arya is in need of protection. The green of her outfit reflects the cool hues of her eyes, and it suits her so much that he wants to take her away with him, to take her away from this place that has dulled her eyes. He wants to see her laugh, and ends up playing songs and lingering longer at Yao’s place than he thought he would, just to hear his name from Hue’s lips again.

* * *

 

Eventually he has to leave, and he promises to return, and Yao points out that their lands have always been connected, that their borders touch in more places than Nalin realized, and so, Nalin knows he will be back. Drawn to the promise of Hue’s smile, and even by Yao’s beautiful country. He travels south, returning to see Nuveena who takes him to meet the person that she cares for the most, a younger girl by the name of Rangani. They pass hours lost in dance and song, and praising all the gods and creation and creating and destroying and they are lost even as they are found. It is then that he knows what he wants more than anything.

* * *

 

He wants all of his siblings to live in one house together. What he doesn’t want is the bloodshed and the sacrifice and the hate in their eyes when it happens.

* * *

 

Years pass, and he grows older, and he grows wiser. He is drinking tea and listening to Yao complain when he realizes it is not about his bosses or his kings, but about a small child that he found and has taken to raising and caring for.

“Aren’t you afraid?” He can’t help but ask, and Yao frowns at him, and he expands on what he fears, “When you came, soon after the person who was the land before you passed on. When I came, my mother died. If you have found a child, don’t you fear that you will die?”

“I don’t. He has a country and a people all of his own. He is a little thief though,” Yao exclaims and then launches back into his story. Nalin lets him rant, even as he thinks over his own fears. What would he do if a child appeared and he was the only one who could take care of him? He is not ready, and he doubts he could ever be.

* * *

 

He has stopped living at palaces, feeling disconnected from his people, he has taken up a small house in a quiet village, away from all the chaos as yet more people have decided to invade and impose their will onto his people. But he is steady and he knows that his people have endured worse, and that he has lasted, and that he will last, and that the land and the people that form him, that gave birth to him will survive.

That is what he holds close to his heart, and that is the strength that keeps him going. And then, he steps outside one day because there was a knock on his door and as he almost trips over a basket right outside of it, he hears a quiet, firm voice say, “Nitai.”

“Aardhya?” It is a name he has not spoken in centuries, and Nitai is a name he has not heard in just as much time. There’s nothing but the wind, and the sound of crying from the basket he kicked a bit. Inside is a brown baby, working itself up into a fine fit, lungs working overtime. He doesn’t understand, and understands even less as the presence of another nation besides himself doesn’t leave him. There is only him in this village, and the baby who has suddenly appeared and he sinks down on the ground and stares in wonder at the screaming infant. What has he done to deserve this?

Because he cannot stand to hear crying from anyone, even as he fears for his life, he picks up the baby and clumsily holds it to his chest. He doesn’t know what to do with an infant as young as the one in his arms, and it's by the grace of some higher power that his neighbor comes to his rescue. Aneri is a young mother, and invents her own story about why the baby has appeared on his doorstep. She tells him how to care for him, and gives him things to do so and refuses his offers of reimbursement. He must look terrified and she, Aneri, tells him that he and his son will be okay.

"No," and it is the only correction he makes, "He is my brother."

"Ah, well I hope you and. . ."

"Datta," he says to stop her silence, naming the baby he holds and feeling sick as he does so, "We will be fine. Thank you for all your help."

The baby has fallen silent and is sleeping and whimpering and Nalin does not know what to do. With Aneri's help he learns how to strap him to his chest and that seems to calm him somewhat. He heads to the market to get more of what the baby will need, more soft blankets and pillows, more colorful things to brighten up his home. He tries to think of who to ask for help but Aneri tells him he cannot travel too far with such a small baby.

"You wouldn't want him to die!" She exclaims, and he feels guilty because her own daughter had just died before she gave birth to her healthier son. But he also feels guilty for other reasons, and he glances down at the sleeping baby against his chest and wonders if he's been given the thing that will end him. He is so terrified, and not for the reasons of newfound fatherhood like Aneri imagines.

* * *

 

He discovers that the baby likes it when there’s music and noise and singing. He doesn’t like loud noises like yelling and screaming. And he doesn’t like the sound of the approaching army and Nalin has no choice but to take Datta and run away. He has to keep his brother that someone has left in his care safe.

He can’t decide on a name for the baby, and much like his peacock that follows him around changes names to suit Nalin’s mood, the baby is one day Datta, and the next Aagam and then he’s Chandak after the man who helps them when Nalin cannot find milk and the baby won’t stop screaming. He wants him to grow and grow stronger, so that he won’t depend on Nalin because Nalin cannot save anyone or keep himself safe. He doesn’t know what his mother was thinking. But Chandak ages so slowly that he despairs.

He heads east to escape the fighting, and hides in Kokan’s home. Kokan welcomes him, but considers the baby carefully. When they arrive, he has taken to calling the baby Daiwik. Daiwik is starting to walk, finally, taking almost twice the time to age as regular people and now Nalin thinks it’s only a matter of time until he can talk. It has been a lonely few years, traveling with a baby strapped to his back and people giving him sympathizing looks for his supposed dead family. He doesn’t ever know what to say, and so Kokan asks no questions that he cannot answer.

“Aardhya? I saw her once,” Kokan says, “It was after we met for the first time.”

“But she died long before then!” He keeps his voice low and Daiwik doesn’t startle from his concentration of pulling himself up along the wall.

“When do we truly die?” Kokan says thoughtfully, “It might be when we have become completely forgotten. She is not forgotten yet, she lives on in us, right? So, how did you find him?”

Nalin can’t tell the truth, even with Kokan’s confession, “I found him in a Northern village. He wasn’t ageing and I could tell he was the same as me. They gave him to me, and he’s been with me ever since.”

“They gave you a baby,” Kokan says, and Nalin knows he’s been found out, but his brother doesn’t press it. Instead he looks at Daiwik, and sighs, “He doesn’t look like a Daiwik.”

Nalin looks at the baby and falls back and turns on his side, “I don’t know what to call him. He answers to ‘you’ and ‘baby’ and ‘bhai’ more than anything.”

“Why did you pick ‘Nalin’ for yourself?”

“Because I thought I was buddhist. But I cannot be as you are, Kokan.” Kokan has converted so completely that all of his hair is gone, leaving a smooth scalp behind as he dresses like a monk and lives a simple life.

Kokan laughs, and then pats his shoulder, “Think about the meaning of the name. That is how you will find a good name for him.”

Nalin watches the baby pull blankets down on himself and sighs.

* * *

 

Eventually he makes his way to an Empire with the baby--the boy. There’s benefits to being the land personified and he needs a safe haven for the child that he has to take care of. He gives up his freedom to roam and settles down. He doesn’t expect much from the Empire, knowing that these men will not last, that humans are fragile and that they will offer limited protection. But, they are enough for now, and they will keep him safe for now. They will keep the boy safe for now.

He has him by the hand and is tugging him along the market. The young boy doesn’t like the elegant clothes that the queen has chosen for him to wear, and keeps on waddling away to be with the animals. One small goat, the rut of batch from Nalin’s critical eye, has the boy’s eye.

“Bhai,” Nalin calls, demanding that he return to his side, but the boy doesn’t listen, and he sighs and turns back to looking at the pipes that have come in ‘fresh from Persia’. There is so much coming in from the countries to the West of him that he can feel change happening all the time.

It’s almost frightening, and it’s depressing.

Suddenly he hears a loud crash and finds that the boy has gotten into the pen, ignoring the wood and iron posts, and is clutching the goat to his chest.

“What are you doing?” He tries to keep his tone casual, but his clothes are covered with unspeakable things. He is filthy and for what? A goat that won’t last more than a night away from its mom?

“Goat!” His brother says, and then presses a kiss to its head.

“Well yes,” and he sighs because once the boy has his hands on something it’s like trying to break iron to get him to let it go. He turns to the owner, and ends up buying the rut and its mother who thankfully has only given birth to the small goat. They head back to the palace, and he watches the boy walk ahead of him, goat against his chest, as he leads the mother onward. His small back reminds Nalin of his mother’s and how strong it had been.

The boy has decided on his course, and it is only fitting that Nalin decide on his. He names him, because he is his brother, and he is the child that he has raised, and that he will raise, and he is his. Nalin is responsible for this boy, so he must see things through to the end.

“Bhai,” he says, and the boy turns slightly. “Aahan,” he says, and it sounds perfect and Aahan stares at him, and then tells him to hurry up.

**Author's Note:**

> Aahan is literally "iron" who let Nalin name a child. 
> 
> I got inspired to write a story about how Nalin first met all of his siblings (or the people who make up South Asia) and I also wanted to write about Nalin hanging out with Yao so here we go.


End file.
